


blurred

by pseudocitrus



Category: Tokyo Ghoul, Tokyo Ghoul:re
Genre: Come Eating, Dirty Talk, F/M, Multiple Orgasms, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-11 09:57:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7886659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pseudocitrus/pseuds/pseudocitrus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With his kind of access, it’s nothing to trace her back to that old cafe. When he enters and spots her behind the counter, she looks at him and freezes. Her eye is wide, like she’s seen a ghost; and then, with sharpness, she turns away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	blurred

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thesickwife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesickwife/gifts).



> a furutou au inspired by the scene where they meet at kamii. :)
> 
> it’s been a while since i’ve written a full-fledged fic;; as usual, i hope you’re having a good day!

It starts as a game.

_A very easy game._

With his kind of access, it’s nothing to trace her back to that old cafe. When he enters and spots her behind the counter, she looks at him and freezes. Her eye is wide, like she’s seen a ghost; and then, with sharpness, she turns away.

He does it all, the usual. _What a coincidence!_ He smiles, leans over the counter, coos at the latte art she made, comes in again with the same impressed compliments and another, different book in his hand. _What a coincidence!_

It’s a long, slow game, the kind that he sometimes craves. He tugs the line carefully, beads it with the bait that seems to draw her closest: soft smiles, modest clothing, shyly muttered quotations and fragments of stories that he either pulls of online book summaries or makes up completely. By the time he gets her into a cafe date for the third time, he knows her well enough to tell that the amusement he’s been grooming in her is starting to fray.

“What’s the matter, Touka-chan?” he asks, and her gaze turns further away.

“…nothing.”

She’s been fiddling with something in her pocket the whole way here, and her hand drifts down again, and this time Furuta sees it: a little rabbit keychain.

“Hey,” he says. “What’s that?”

“It’s nothing,” Touka murmurs, brushing a pigtail behind her ear. “Just a…nothing.”

“Really? It’s pretty cute. Let me see.”

She hesitates, and then puts it on the table. It sits up for a second, and then flops over. Furuta tries to stand up it again, to no avail.

“It’s a lost cause,” he laughs, and Touka retrieves the keychain again, and nestles it in her palm.

“Remember that story you told me? I forget the book title, but it was the one with the two people…a father, and a son.”

“I remember a little of it,” Furuta says cautiously. There are a lot of stories he’s bullshitted, by now; and that one was definitely one of them. Sort of.

“I don’t think I understood it then,” Touka says, turning the rabbit over in her hand. “But I think I get it now. It’s…awful. When someone won’t call you by your name.”

:::

It’s a very easy game. One that he’s used to playing.

But now, his mouth is just a little dry. His fingernails scrape against the surface of his mug. He was plotting out his next move for weeks, waiting for the perfect moment, but now, suddenly, they are at the station where they usually part, and the walk to get here passed entirely too quickly, and Furuta’s heart is a little faster than usual, and he is clearing his throat.

“Touka-chan,” he says. “Can I kiss you?”

She blinks at him. Her face reddens, palpably, prettily.

“What?”

“Maybe just,” Furuta says, “a little one?”

Her hand, still rummaging around in her pocket, fists up. Then she withdraws it, palm empty, and lets it rest at her side.

“Okay,” she says. Furuta grins at her, an expression that is helplessly too Furuta-like. When he approaches her, she squinches her eyes shut and puckers her lips and then unpuckers them and then puckers them up again, and Furuta takes her chin in his hand and leans down and kisses her hair-covered forehead.

“O-oh,” Touka stammers, and it’s then, when her face is even redder, that he laughs at her and dives in against her mouth.

The slack of her startled lips is soft. She leaps back, raising and bending her arm to cover her face.

“I- _idiot_!” she hisses. But, she’s not so mad that she doesn’t refuse him one last proper kiss before he floats away to his platform.

:::

Easy, easy game. Where did all that dry mouth stuff come from? This is nothing. Touka-chan follows his beckoning finger straight into his apartment, and then into his bed, where she unbuttons her blouse while sitting on the Kamii brochures he gathered up that morning. He leans over her, murmuring some hastily-memorized passage — he rubs the lace of her bra — he sneaks his hand beneath it. Her neck arches and he kisses it. Her legs part around him and when she moans, his trousers, suddenly, start to hurt.

_O-oh._

He really wasn’t going to, not yet, this other person that he is supposed to be right now probably wouldn’t do it, and furthermore, this point was supposed to come later. He was planning to sort of groan at her, ask her desperate permission, maybe with some kind of tear in his eye to indicate he didn’t want to ruin her with either his insecurity or the shamefulness of his suppressed passion.

He hesitates, trapped, and Touka raises her body against him, wraps her arms to bring him closer.

“Furuta-san,” she whispers, “ _please_.”

And he loses it.

:::

He’s so weak to cute girls.

Especially when they come to him of their own volition, with their cute voices and cute matching underwear sets and cutely-tied hair that is even cuter after he’s tugged at it enough that it sprawls, messy and ruffling with every hard, cute breath.

Her body feels so good around him that he doesn’t even realize it until later, when he asks her, for once, to open her eyes, and she regards him with a single pupil that seems just a little more hazy than he expects.

That darting, fleeing gaze tears a chasm in his carefully arranged board. After that, he can’t stop seeing it.

There are…extra pieces here. Ones that he thought were already folded away into the box.

Her closed eyes, for one. Her held breath and bitten words, for two. The way she is always worrying that rabbit between her fingers when she looks up at him from his doorway, and how she always carefully sets it aside on his dresser before unzipping her skirt and letting it fall to the floor.

“Look at me,” Furuta murmurs, and Touka opens her eye to meet his, but then turns it down almost immediately. She makes a little sound of pleasure, rolling her hips on him, squeezing the strength out of him, and that night, when she’s finished with him and discarded him as usual, Furuta bites down on his thumb, hard.

:::

It is, frankly, no fair.

Touka-chan —

Cute Touka-chan, her bright glare and rare smile and sweet mouth and bucking body and needy panting and every gleam that she leaves on his thighs and chin —

It’s _no fair,_ that she occupies his mind at every minute, dominates every sense in it, and that in return he doesn’t even have a sliver of spotlight, is nothing more to her than a warm body with an easily blurred face.

He puts her off, feigns a test he needs to study for, imagines every day he declines how her appetite must be growing, how she might be feeding it herself helplessly with her hand but still not feeling sated enough to stop herself from asking him again when he’ll be free.

A week later, he’s ready. She leans up for her closed-eye kiss and he gently turns her aside and suckles on her throat. Her body, bra shed impatiently in the entryway, presses up against him, and he feels himself buckle. He strokes his hand against the lace between her parting thighs until his finger is moist, and then he pushes her underwear aside and continues thrusting inside of her slowly with his finger, adding a second one when she unfolds hungrily around him.

Touka buries her head against his chest; her body slides, up and down. Part of the old game was knowing her through observations and the new game is no different. When her breath begins to catch, he lifts his fingers away from her.

Her eye opens.

“A-ah…huh?”

“You were close?” Furuta asks, and his suspicions are confirmed when Touka takes a moment to gather herself.

“I…w-well, I…did something happen that…?”

“Nope,” Furuta tells her brightly. “I just wanted to stretch things out a little more, is all.”

He pushes her, back down, to the bed. She lies, and allows him to spread her knees and bend between them. He nuzzles her dripping underwear aside with a lick, and soon, her body, stiffened with confusion, begins to relax again. He licks her, broadly, swirling his tongue around her clit and inside her, trying to keep a solid hold on her quivering slippery thighs, and the moment that they begin to tighten together, he withdraws, and gives her nothing more than a couple teasing exhales.

This time, her eye snaps open with something deliciously sharp. She lifts her hips up to him and he does nothing. Her hand moves behind his head and tugs it and he leans forward and obliges her with only a light kiss.

“ _Come on_ ,” she moans, with irritation. “I want —”

She cuts herself off, with a bite. Furuta smiles at her, circles his palm on her stomach.

“What do you want?” he asks. “Me?”

She licks her lips. “Yeah,” she says finally, and Furuta beams at her.

“Don’t worry, Touka-chan. You’ll get it.”

But not soon.

Part of being a great pretender is knowing your company, and Touka is someone whose trembles have been imprinted into his very vocabulary. Despite his carefully constructed persona, there’s nothing disingenuous about _this_ — the taste of her nipples firm and firmer in the curl of his tongue — the squeeze of her thighs around his hips — the shudder wracks her when he laves the line of her throat. He grips her shoulders and her butt and she squirms desperately against him, her quiet implorations growing louder.

When he finally lets her unzip him and pose him against her slit, he has to go slow, slow, _slow_ , because the moment he has just the tip of himself in, her fingers start clutching the bedsheets. Her thighs pedal against him, trying to draw him deeper, and he feels his mouth spread in a grin. He takes her wrists and holds them over her head.

Her breasts stand out great, like this. They’re heaving with her desire. She struggles against him, just a little, and he knows if he let her go she’d start dragging her nails across him and caressing his back and he’d lose, again, all over again. He eases himself in, and in, and in, and the sound of her whining and the sight of her arched back makes his heart pound.

All the way in now. Her muscles are clenching him and he sighs, happily. He transfers both her wrists to one hand, and curves his free fingers over her thigh. His thumb is poised right against her clit, already swollen and flushed. He nudges it just a little and she cries out.

“A-ah, _y-yes_ , I…just… _just_ —”

“You want me,” Furuta purrs. “Think about it, Touka-chan. You were begging me to put my huge dick inside you. _Me_. All week you imagined being filled with it and now here I am, buried in you all the way.”

He thrusts his hips, just a little, to prove that he can’t go any deeper; he flexes inside her, causing her to whine.

“What do you want?” Furuta asks, and her mouth works, wetly.

“I want to come,” she whispers raggedly, and he smiles at her and caress her clit and lifts away just in time to listen to her rising voice crumple with special agony. Furuta withdraws his cock just enough to shine his thumb again with her copious slick.

“What do you want,” Furuta repeats, and Touka bites her lip. Her eye glimmers. She holds her breath, and when he presses himself back inside again, she chokes, and bursts it out. A sigh barely ringed by the syllables.

“Y-you…Furuta-san.”

“Who?” Furuta asks, and Touka says it again, louder: “You, Furuta-san. Furu…” She swallows. “Furuta.”

He rewards her with a good stroke against the underside of her clit. The sweat is standing out on her tense body, and when he once again beckons her climax close and then lifts his hand away, her whole body writhes with the miserable fall.

“I want you, Nimura,” she cries finally, “I want you, I want you, I want _you_ ,” and that’s it, _that_ is it, she looks up at him with her eyes and her mind and her body filled only with _him_ and it only takes a couple strong thrusts until she is falling apart loudly around him but he keeps on until she is doing it again, breathless, freeing herself from his grip and failing to muffle her cute voice into his shoulder.

His name comes again from her raw throat and with a groan he withdraws himself just in time, pumping himself and spilling over her thighs, her belly, her breast.

Gasping, he gives her everything, wrings himself free of every droplet. When his vision clears, Touka is lying, exhausted. Her skin is wet; her hair, matted; her body, emitting gentle spasms.

“Touka-chan,” he calls sweetly, and she opens one glazed eye to look at him. He cradles her face. Her eye’s blackness reflects perfectly his fond smile.

“You are so cute, Touka-chan.”

She blinks, slow. Her face warms. She doesn’t look away.

His seed is pooling into her navel, just beside her twitching fingers. Inspired, he smears a finger through it, and holds it to her face.

Her panting mouth shuts. She licks her lips, and then parts them, and he lays his fingertip into the bowl of her velvet tongue.

Her tongue smoothes; her jaws work. She releases a sigh, and his finger withdraws, connected to a bright line of saliva, which snaps as he reaches down again. Furuta dips and takes up another smear to her lips. Just as with everything else he’s given her, she swallows, and swallows, and swallows, filling herself up.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!!


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